


Wolf in Sheep's Clothing

by LittleWatty



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-12
Updated: 2012-04-12
Packaged: 2018-11-06 15:37:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11039139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleWatty/pseuds/LittleWatty
Summary: Basic backstory for an OC, Tanyin. All of this occurs before the events of Skyrim, so some characters that die in the normal progression of the game are still alive, and many characters in high ranks are different than those in canon because its before they were given such rank.





	Wolf in Sheep's Clothing

My history is not an eventful one. I am not very old, I have not lived a hard life, and neither have I seen slavery or abuse. My life was very simple for many years, and the only reason it changed was because I willed it to. Most people would know me by the name Therdon, son of Sorian, class Ra Gada of Hammerfell. But that is not who I am. I am Tanyin, daughter of Iszara and Gor of Sentinel, a wanted woman across Tamriel with a substantial reward on my head. I committed no crime, unless it is a crime to be free. I stole no money, unless it is considered stealing if I earn it. I killed no man... well... I didn't kill anyone to deserve my bounty.

My mother died giving birth to me, probably twenty-three summers ago. Since then, my father has kept me very close to him. He claims it is for my safety, but I believe that under all his supposed 'love', he loathes me for taking his wife from him. My father told me I was to be a lady, like my mother, and marry a man of his choosing. I did not like this. I prayed to Leki daily for a new life, and practiced with whatever weapons the local blacksmith would allow me to touch. He was a kind man... he knew I didn't like the life I was in, and promised to never tell my father what I was up to. Yet one day my father did find out, and he locked me in the house. I could see the pain in his eyes when I swore at him, both in native Yokudan, Cyrodiilic, and every other language I knew. I was sixteen when he locked me up. Barely a woman, and still a child. To spite him, I locked myself in my room, refusing to take food or water from him. What he didn't know was that the Blacksmith, who seemed to be my only friend, was giving me food and drink through my window. In the end, it was he who provided the distraction that allowed me to get out of the house, and away from the city. I would have thanked him, but that would have just gotten me caught and hauled back to the house where I'd never be allowed to leave again. The only things I had with me were the clothes on my back, the gift of a short sword from the Blacksmith, and what meager coin I had collected by working in the city before my father locked me in the house.

A short way into my trip, I began noticing posters up in the bigger cities, asking for information as to where I went. Before long, they were in the small hamlets as well. I resorted to traveling mostly through the wilderness, only stopping at very obscure inns when I needed a place to sleep. Eventually, the inns ran out, and the wilderness took over. I had to force myself to travel near enough to a hamlet so I could sleep somewhere where I wouldn't have to worry about a wolf tearing my throat out in the night. I learned too late that it was a mistake. The reward for any knowledge as to my whereabouts had increased substantially. A man would be a fool to ignore it. And they didn't. Just as I was about to sneak into an inn, a man caught my shoulder and I could see the recognition in his eyes. Without thinking, I grabbed the short sword the blacksmith had given me, and smacked him upside the head with hilt. I hit him hard enough to knock him out, but not to kill him. Seeing little other choice, I found the key to his house, and took a few things for my trip. Clothes, food, water skins, furs for the cold, but not much else. While I was there, I knew I had to do something about my appearance, or I'd never be able to get out of Hammerfell. Working quickly with a dagger from under the man's pillow, I cut my hair until it was barely an inch long. I changed into some of the clothes I had taken from the dresser, leaving mine in the fire. Glancing at my reflection in a shiny platter, I barely recognized myself. I was small chested, with broad enough shoulders to get away with being a man, if I wore loose clothes to hide my hips. It was the best I could do. Before leaving, I decided to go by Therdon, son of Sorian. It was close enough to my real name that I might remember to react to it, but far enough that no one should make a connection.

Hiding my identity proved to be invaluable, allowing me to escape Hammerfell and reach Skyrim. While outside Whiterun, I was ambushed by a large sabre cat. Throughout my travels I had practiced with the blade the blacksmith gave me, but it wasn't enough for this cat. I was unprepared, and lost the sword when it knocked me over a rocky ledge. The cat hadn't done me any damage, but the rocks ripped open my cheek, brow, and several places on my arm. Wounded and unarmed, I knew I was done for. That was, until suddenly the beast was stuck with an arrow. It yowled out in pain, and I looked up to see a group of two people on the rocks where I fell from. One of the larger men tossed me down a large axe while a petite woman took aim with her bow again. If you've never met a sabre cat, I suggest you don't. The arrows may have wounded the beast, but they were like the bites of a fly to this thing. After the second arrow struck home, it roared and charged at me. Heaving the axe over my head, I brought it down on the animal's skull before I was its next meal. I limped back up the rocks, using the axe sort of like a walking stick, until I met up with the people who saved my life. The man was an Orc, probably twice my size, who went by the name Burul gro-Dragol. The tiny woman was a Bosmer, and she didn't speak. Burul told me her name was Menelin. She didn't speak because some self-righteous lord had cut out her tongue for speaking treason. She put a dagger in his eye before he could do any worse. They told me if I wanted, I could follow them back to Jorrvaskr, where I could join their group if I wanted. The Companions they called themselves. It seemed like a fine enough idea. When I tried to give Burul back his axe, he told me to keep it. "You handle it like an Orc," he told me, which apparently was some sort of compliment. I followed them back, eager to start a new life.

Most of my wounds scarred, and I spent the next several years with the Companions. Turns out Burul and Menelin were part of a group within the Companions. They didn't exactly have a higher status, but they were highly respected by everyone else. They even seemed to have these secret meetings in the middle of the night where they wouldn't return until morning. Burul taught me everything he knew about wielding battleaxes, since I did like using the one he gave me. Well, that was until he died. Menelin was distraught. Even if she couldn't speak, the rage showed in her eyes and in everything she did. One day, she grabbed me by the wrist, hauled me out of sight of everyone else, and gave me a piece of paper before quickly leaving. She had never acted like this before, but even other members of the Circle were giving me odd looks that whole day. I read the paper, saying to meet her at the Underforge after night fell. I had no idea what the Underforge was, so I just aimlessly walked around Jorrvaskr until I found her standing by a slab of rock below the Skyforge. When I approached her, the rock shifted and moved away, revealing a cave. When we entered, the stone moved back into place. I was locked in here, with Menelin and who, or what, else? It was dark, and suddenly there was a blood chilling sound, almost like something was being torn apart by an animal. I drew the axe from my back, ready to attack, but what was I going to attack? Some beast hiding in the black? That's when the light from a torch came up. It was Kodlak Whitemane, the Nord Harbinger. He was sort of like a leader to us, but didn't actually have any authority. We all followed him anyway. What I wasn't expecting was the giant beast on the other side of the cave. It looked like a wolf, but was bipedal. I was about to attack it when Kodlak stopped me. "Wouldn't want to hurt Menelin, would you?" My jaw dropped. Menelin, the tiny Bosmer I had gotten to know as a friend, was this... creature? Kodlak explained to me that all members of the Circle were werewolves. Even Burul. That's why he was killed. Werewolf hunters are a common death for members of the Circle, more die by them than any other means. They asked me to the Underforge that night to welcome me to the ranks of the Circle. I was to take Burul's place, avenge his death, and join them in the beast blood. I couldn't refuse, even if I had wanted to. They killed my friend, and they would die. Menelin became my sire when I drank her blood beneath the Skyforge.

Most of what happened next was a blur, but as I learned later, that's to be expected. Most unwilling transformations leave the person dazed and confused when they wake up. What I didn't learn until too late, however, was that I would wake up clothes-less in a random part of the wilderness. When my eyes opened, I saw Menelin's shocked expression. Realizing I was stark naked in the snow, I rolled to my feet and hid in a nearby bush. A couple minutes later, a hand shoved some clothes into the bush, then quickly retreated so I could dress. When I returned, Kodlak, Menelin, and a few other members of the Circle were there. "Well, Therdon, what name should we really call you by?" was the first thing any of them said, and it was from Kodlak. I sunk down into the snow, defeated, but refused to give them my name. Eventually they all gave up, but a few of the male members of the Circle leered at me in disturbing ways. I would have cleaved their skulls in, but I didn't have my axe.

I avenged Burul, like I said I would, and served with the Circle for some time. But word had spread through the Companions that I was not Therdon, I was instead a woman hiding in men's clothes and armor. Some tried getting close to me, but after a quick brawl, they learned better. All but one, that is. Stubborn bastard - he doesn't even deserved to be named. He knew who I was. He called me by my name one evening, while I was out behind Jorrvaskr beating a straw dummy senseless. He told me he was going to turn me in and take the massive reward for himself. He didn't care what I had done, he figured I probably deserved whatever punishment I would get. I pushed him away, a fool like him wasn't going to get away with dragging me back across Tamriel to my father. I wouldn't let him. Despite dressing like a man, having the strength of most, and convincing everyone around me that I was in fact a man, he was bigger than I was. He threw me to the ground and kicked me in the head, ripping open the scars from my run in with the sabre cat. Desperate for escape, I crawled along the ground as he laughed at me. With my vision hazy from the blood, and disoriented from the kick, I was lucky to find the staff of my axe. I grunted as I rolled to my back, bringing down the blade of my axe much like I did that first day I met Burul and Menelin. His skull cleaved cleanly in two, leaving me there gasping for breath. I don't know how long I sat there until the others came running out of the mead hall. Menelin's was the first face I saw, pain in her eyes. I didn't really notice the blood that covered me until she took a ragged cloth and started cleaning up my face. Friends of the man who tried to take me back to my father were arguing with Kodlak about what to do with me. They wanted blood for blood, my life for his. He reminded them that I was of the Circle, but there were more people wanting vengeance than there were people who wanted to protect me. In the end, I was exiled. Forever expelled from the Companions, never to return to the mead hall of Jorrvaskr.

Menelin cried when I left. Little gasping weeps that I'll never forget. I kept a straight face, not letting the man's friends see how distressed I was. All because of their 'friend' I had to leave the only friends I had ever really made. If I had any hopes or dreams, they were all destroyed now because of that man.

In search of peace and quiet, I traveled across Skyrim, never settling in one place for long. During my travels, I happened across a man who transformed into a werewolf and killed a child. From him, I gained the ring of Hircine and went on to gain his favor, lifting the curse from the metal. As time passed, I eventually settled in Winterhold, using its seclusion as means to find the peace I've been searching for...


End file.
